


there's fire where flowers used to grow.

by bobbingformangos



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbingformangos/pseuds/bobbingformangos
Summary: There is a small possibility that she was both inebriated and hyped up on caffeine. Her thoughts flowed freely, a river soaring through her body and ending right at the apex of her thighs as a possibility after possibility ran through her mind without restriction.





	there's fire where flowers used to grow.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am posting my stories back up on AO3. Some are unfinished but have been requested over the years. I hope that you enjoy. I think it would take a lot of inspiration to come back and finish these stories due to not being in the fandom anymore (and, you know, getting married, starting a fam, those kinds of things) - but who knows, maybe one day. The wife and I have a tumblr where I sometimes write things (under the tag "ave wrote this") - the tumblr is called weforgottoeatthecake

 

 

**there’s fire where flowers used to grow.**

 

 

 

_Playlist:_

_A Little Party Never Killed Anybody (All We Got) by Fergie._

_No Church in the Wild by Jay Z_

_Bang Bang by will.i.am_

_Together by The XX_

_Devil’s Got a Gun by Whitehorse_

_Bad Things by Jace Everett_

_Maneater by The Blue Eyed Blondes_

 

_(28/200)_

_(5170 words)_

_(Unedited.)_

 

-

 

There is a small possibility that she was both inebriated and hyped up on caffeine. Her thoughts flowed freely, a river soaring through her body and ending right at the apex of her thighs as possibility after possibility ran through her mind without restriction. There was a huge possibility that at this moment, vodka and cranberry in her hand, that she was beyond wet. She pressed her thighs together and sighed, attempting for a moment to move her thoughts away from a queen that she once saw and the mayor who used to sit on her desk, legs crossed and skirt rising to show toned thighs.

 

Did Regina even realize what the hell she was doing back then? Back when they played the constant game of mouse and cat that always ended with Emma clutching the rim of the bathtub, hand between her thighs as fingers worked through slick curls, bringing herself to orgasm over and over at the thought of “Miss Swan” being thrown against her.

 

It’s funny how she still viewed all of these as possibilities. It was laughable really and if she was drunk enough she would explain it to the entire group, laughing and holding her stomach, but she wasn’t drunk enough and she knew that no one would find it funny (Ruby would find it funny, she would definitely find it funny). She could imagine the horror on her mother’s face and her father choking on his beer and Leroy yelling how fucked up it all was, and it really was.

 

But wouldn’t it make a perfect fairy tale?

 

Another gulp of her vodka and cranberry and it’s gone. A frown on her lips, Emma gets up from her seat, murmuring to the table that she’s getting a refill, and heads to the bar. Killian reaches out for her hand, asking if she wants him to get her something, but honestly she never trusted him with drinks. Maybe it was those few bad experiences those few years she went to community college or the words that she remembered nonchalantly being said by the pirate, but she tries to avoid Killian giving anyone drinks if she can help it - especially her. Maybe that should say something to her? Then again, she’s broken and damage and he choose her first and Emma still has a shit ton to work through. Yes, there is a small possibility that she is indeed inebriated.

 

“Did I ever get to thank you, Emma?” The thick accented voice of Robin Hood asked her as she made it to the bar, leaning against the wooden surface while waiting for the bartender to catch her eyes. She frowned, right side of her lip curling down and a hand coming up to push some curls out of her face. She was either too lazy to straighten it or just missing the way her hair was so unruly, but she’s been wearing her hair curly for the last few weeks.

 

Emma turns to look at him, he has a soft grin on his face as he meets her eyes, turns to look at Marian laughing with the group of Merry Men, and then looking back at Emma. Fuck, he was a good guy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She really can’t be angry or upset with a good guy, but she can certainly be jealous. She really shouldn’t - soon enough she will be singing “Defying Gravity” and turning green.

 

Too soon, Zelena’s only been dead for a month.

 

Fuck, she’s insensitive too.

 

“Yeah, no problem,” is what escapes her lips as she nods and turns to tell the bartender that she needs a whiskey straight. She turns back to him, his features gentle and free and she wonders how can someone be so open. He’s honorable in certain ways, handsome in many others, and generally caring, not to mention a good father. And he was patient and challenging in other ways.. Of course he would be perfect for someone like Regina. Emma’s frown deepens and she glances over at the woman she saved, the dark haired woman looking over every once and a while to smile at Robin. When their eyes meet its like a collision of stars, beautiful, something that Emma (she won’t admit) wanted since she was a little girl.

 

“You didn’t have to do it, Emma, but you did. You truly are one of the most honorable souls I’ve encountered.” Robin says, eyes steady and voice filled with unsaid emotion and Emma bets they could be friends. Really good friends, probably. She really hated her heart most days. He finishes, “I’ll be forever grateful and in debt to you, Emma Swan, for completing my family.”He reaches forward and takes her into her arms, hugging her while she keeps her arm up and hand firmly grasping her tumbler of alcohol, other arm straight. And his hug whispers a gratitude that she feels like she can relate to - it’s every moment that he son’s life has been nearly lost and the moment that it’s returned back to him and its just pure and hopeful and fuck, she really did hate her heart.

 

He pulls away, mentioning dinner with his family the following week and then heads back to wrap his arms around Marian’s waist and laughs and laughs and laughs. Fairy dust or predestination didn’t matter, not to him, not to them, just that they loved each other and they choose that love and it was pure in more ways than fairy dust and that meant something.

 

It struck something. Plucked at strings in her heart and she brought the tumbler back up to her lips, tilting her head back and gulping down the liquid, enjoying the burn in her throat when she puts down the glass and a ten before turning back to her group. The elite group - they were the fucking Avengers of Storybrooke according to her son - and all of them where laughing and joking and knocking back another beer. Kids left with Aurora and Mulan and Henry (kid liked babysitting, he enjoyed his uncle and the fifty that David would slide him), and parents and friends enjoying a night out.

 

Emma should continue drinking and continuing laughing (and continue side eyeing the guy she liked to make out with sometimes) but she looked at the group and it felt so wrong and there was a spot missing and she thought about how she ruined Regina’s happiness so how could she be grinning and laughing herself.

 

She also thought about the wetness between her thighs and her panties, slick, due to the thoughts running through her head.

 

Possibilities. Emma laughed at that.

 

“I’m heading over to Regina’s,” Emma threw over her shoulder at the group as she walked to the exit of the bar. It’s been nearly a month (or longer?). This was bullshit and she was inebriated and she needed to see her. She was tired of hearing her voice behind a wooden door telling her to “leave, Miss Swan”. Seriously, they saved the world, like five times, together. She was more than that. She was more than just someone you could turn away. People hurt people everyday, it sucks, but they also work it out. Hell, her mother and Regina worked out their shit. Right? Kinda, maybe?

 

-

 

“It’s not the end of the world,” ends up flying from her lips, loud and the burn is still in her throat, when she bangs against the door. It’s nearing midnight, the moon high in the sky, and her hair is a halo of curls around her head. Golden blonde. She is thinking about how Regina is hurting and how much she misses her and how the wetness hasn’t gone away and of finding a mayor on her desk and how it never went the way that she wanted. It’s a moment, split second, of epiphany. Emma’s heart jumps as she realizes that, fuck, she was a fool. She was a fucking fool. She continued, “Fucking love again, Regina.”

 

And she was so in love with Regina that it was rolling off of her in delicious, sweet tasting need. Well, that’s what she imagined but it was true. Her heart has been aching for this woman and it was enhanced and uncontrollable at this moment between alcohol and caffeine and feeling.

 

She was erratic and slightly desperate. Her breathing was coming out hard, causing her chest to hurt and her throat to burn more than the whiskery that had went down it. She felt like she just ran and ran and ran and she couldn’t catch her breath.

 

And now words slipped out as if they were snakes crawling up her throat and the door was flying open. Regina. There was music, strong and filled with a pulse, behind her that slapped Emma across the face with possibilities and thoughts. But it was Regina, her face and hair and the pink to her cheeks that caught Emma’s attention.

 

She was infuriated. The vein in her forehead popping out and her nose flaring and Emma noticed her knuckles turning white as she grasped the door. Her hair was up, out of her face, and she looked like the Evil Queen that Emma met in Fairy Tale Land. Emma really should start fearing for her life, she thinks, but instead she cocks a grin. She leans against the threshold, crossing her arms as the music continues to pulse in the house behind her. “Wouldn’t pin you for a girl who enjoys a good beat.”

 

Regina’s anger intensifies, she still clutches onto the edge of the door as she steps forward and yes, Emma’s enjoying this a little too much because it reminds her of the woman who held power and sensuality and even of the Mayor who tried to keep the curse unbroken with all her power and fuck, Emma was a fucking masochist and she thought of just how good Regina would be when she attempted to punish her.

 

Regina turned her head every so slightly, lifting her chin and glaring. Her breath is warm against Emma’s face when she talks (it smells like sugar and apple slices and fennel), her words are controlled and her eyes are tracking over Emma’s face, “I’m sure you think about pinning me a lot, Miss Swan, but tell me, it must really make you desperate knowing that I would never. Ever. Want. You.”

 

Oh.

 

Well.

 

“I see the way you looked at me, Miss Swan,” Regina’s voice is a whisper, tongue pushing out the thick words. It’s meant to sting because her heart hurts, ripped and torn one too many times, and she’s hoping to do the same to Emma. What she couldn’t (and wouldn’t) do to Snow - she was free to do to Emma. She wanted to break her and rip her apart and make her heart bleed the way her heart was bleeding. It’s her primal response, really, to lash out. And she wasn’t Emma to break.

 

Completely.

 

And then, possibly, she could move forward, because yeah, in the grand scheme of things, she could love again.

 

They were just a handful of possibilities and maybe one day she will realize it. Probably too late.

 

Emma felt her chest contract, caving into itself but not completely. No, because Regina was speaking to her and looking at her and she could smell her all around her. Plus, she might be inebriated. A tiny bit, really.

 

“I actually think about more than that, but sure,” Emma says, the snake slipping past her lips and her grin growing more and her hand combs through her hair again before coming to settling on the back of her neck. Regina’s eyes glance down to the swell of Emma’s breasts peaking out of the peasant top. Her eyes dart back up to meet Emma’s, seeing the challenge in her eyes, and it lights the fire more.

 

Regina is burning and burning and she was going to set Emma Swan on fire.

 

“You ruined my happy ending,” Regina spoke, void of emotion, fact stated.

 

And Emma retorted, “And you helped ruin my childhood.”

 

“Actually, dear, your parents did that all on their own,” Regina said, stepping closer, bare toes hitting the tips of Emma’s shoes. “I would have given you the world.”

 

She still could and Emma could give it back to her.

 

Instead Emma winced and replied, “That’s fucked up - especially since all I think about is you fucking me.”

 

They both pause because Emma’s officially crossed the line that they were tip toeing around. All hope of getting away without scars is out the door and Regina is now openly sneering at her. Emma loves the way her lip curls up, scar scrunched, over her teeth as the hiss escapes as her tongue presses forward between her teeth. Emma is mesmerized, really.

 

Regina’s hand snaps forward, fingers curling around the shirt, fingers inside and nails scraping against the top of Emma’s breasts. She’s grinning now, sneering smile that tells stories of a woman who once was a Queen who got deemed evil and decided (her only choice, a half one at that, really) to embrace the title. She pulls Emma forward, body crashing into her own, Emma’s huff of breath coming out to brush her face. It smells like whiskey and cranberries.

 

The beat rises behind them, the music pulsing louder, and Regina steps back into the house, pulling Emma along with her. The door shuts behind the women, a huff of air bringing Emma’s scent forward and slamming into Regina’s face. The blonde smelt like the bar and lavender and need.

 

For a moment Regina was hit with the image of sweet, soft caresses and mouths moments apart and breathing into each other and gasping for love and orgasm and it hurts. It fucking hurt. It could never be like that with Emma.

 

“You want me,” Regina teases, tone low and husky and it both scares Emma and arouses her. Regina tugs on Emma’s shirt, bringing the blonde’s face closer. Her mouth is at Emma’s ear and she continues, “Answer me when I talk to you, Emma.”

 

Emma’s snake is back in her belly and her tongue is held. She is suddenly not thinking about possibilities but her panties are still soaked. She is aware of everything within seconds - the smells of spice in the air, the sound of the music coming from the kitchen, the warmth of Regina’s fingers against her chest, the way her lips bump into Emma’s ear every so often, and the way Emma’s chest is rising and following as if her breath is no where to be caught. She’s aware and suddenly coming back into herself and this, well this isn’t completely right. It’s them and it’s more and it’s crossing every line that they have ever danced around. “Regina, this isn’t you.”

 

The growl that escapes Regina’s throat is enough to cause Emma’s wetness to soak out of her panties and down her thigh. She feels her jeans sticking against her thighs now. Sweat and arousal. “Oh, dear, it is me. Isn’t this what you wanted, Emma? Aren’t I what you want?”

 

And Emma’s nodding her head before she is thinking and Regina is pulling her through the hallway (the blonde ungracefully stumbling), and into the kitchen all to quickly. Because secrets are out in the open and emotions are swirling around them and neither woman is realizing the chaotic swirl of magic filling up around them. Its a beautiful combustion of energy and emotion, magic. They are breathing it through their nostrils and into their lungs and it’s spreading into their blood stream and coming off of them all over again.

 

“Sit,” Regina demands, pushing Emma into the wooden chair next to the breakfast table. The music seems louder, pulsing and beating against their bodies, a mix of ‘30s jazz and hip hop and swagger and Regina is grinning in front of Emma. Pain and glee behind her eyes and she is running purely on emotions right now.

 

Emma’s stomach is dropping and her heart is pushing, pushing against her ribs, begging for things that the blonde shouldn’t beg for - ‘hurt me’’, break me’, ‘take me’, ‘love me’ - it all sounds the same inside the organ.

 

Regina is straddling Emma’s lap, quickly and sudden, causing the blonde to curl her hands into fists to try to grasp onto some kind of control that seems to quickly leave her body with the magic rolling off her skin. The kitchen lights are too dim and the moonlight is coming through every window and Emma is realizing that Regina opened the door in a nightgown and robe and there is a tea cup on the table with steam still rolling off the top. Regina lets the robe drop behind her, pooling at Emma’s feet while Regina moves forward, hovering over Emma’s lap. She meets Emma’s eyes, licks her lips, “Is this what you had in mind, Emma? Me, riding you?”

 

The music is pulsing.

 

And Regina’s body is rocking.

 

And Emma sucks in air because her shirt is thin and Regina’s now rocking above her stomach. Her pelvis moving forward and her center pressing against Emma and she could feel her, the heat between her legs, and Emma’s fists unclench and her hands are moving to Regina’s hips. Her fingers press against the silk material and Regina’s skin and Regina’s eyes are fire, once more. With a snap of Regina’s fingers, Emma’s hands are behind her, bound by magic. Regina clicks her tongue, lets out a huff of a chuckle, “Who said you could touch me, Miss Swan?”

 

And then her hips are moving once more, her lip is between her teeth, and the fingers of one hand is trailing across Emma’s collarbone. Emma’s skin is heated and there is sweat dripping down her breasts, and Regina’s hips are curling over and over again. Her other hand moves to lips up her gown over her hips, black panties barely covering her center and ass. Emma looks down, notices how one area is darker than the rest and her eyes snap back up to Regina’s. Regina chuckles, “I never said I didn’t think about you touching me. You’ve always made me, hmm, what do you could it?”

 

Regina now lowers her ass to sit in Emma’s lap, her hand trailing down her chest and over the material cover her stomach and down to caress fingers over the dark spot over her panties. She scrunches her nose, eyes staying on Emma’s, as the word drips from her tongue, “Wet.”

 

Emma sucks a breath and her jeans are ruined. She is soaked through the material and her legs are spreading ever so slightly under Regina. Her eyes are darting back and forth between Regina’s eyes and her panty covered center and she is aroused. So fucking aroused. Regina’s fingers are now teasingly caressing over the spot, ever so often circling hard, and Emma’s eyes falls to Regina’s mouth. It’s parted and open and little mews are escaping. She looks different, in some ways, freer but still bound by emotions that she is unable to let go of. She’ll always bind herself, won’t she, by all the hopes that have been taken away from her?

 

Thoughts are heavy with want and with emotion and with need. There is gasps escaping each of their mouths and Regina’s undulating in Emma’s lap, her fingers now moving to the side to slip under the gusset of her panties before pulling them to the side. Her lip is bleeding from biting down. She looks down, seeing her clit peek out and wet, before looking up at Emma. Emma’s chest is heaving, sweat sliding down her neck, and her eyes are wide as she looks down to what Regina is showing her. The music is surrounding them, beating their hearts beat for beat, and for a moment, everything is this very second.

 

“I’m dripping, Emma,” Regina whispers. “I am so sensitive. If I pressed on my clit right now, I would come right here in your lap. Could you imagine, Emma? My body shaking on top of you, my teeth biting your neck as I come? Do you imagine me saying your name? Whispering it over and over? Hmm, dear?”

 

Emma’s eyes are glossy with want and possibilities. Her tongue darts out to lick at her lips and Regina smiles at this as she uses one of her fingers to spread herself and she leans back ever so slightly. Exposed. She continues, voice ever so gentle and laced with something unnoticeably dangerous. “Would you like to taste me, Emma?”

 

The blonde pulls at her wrists, desperate to slide her fingers through Regina’s heat, collecting wetness to taste, but she’s quickly reminded that they are bound. She huffs and meets Regina’s eyes, nodding, begging, “Yes, please.”

 

Regina grins at that, how desperate the blonde is - its kind of endearing. Instead, she brings her free hand down, two fingers pressed together to slide over her clit and down into her entrance. Her hips buck erratically as she slides inside herself. A moan escaping her lips and her eyes close for a brief moment. She slides them out before pressing them in, harder, and curling. Fuck, she’s tight and her cunt is already grasping and grasping and quivering. She could come so easily. Instead, she quickly slides her fingers out of herself and lifts them up.

 

They glisten in the moonlight.

 

Emma’s licking her lips again and Regina’s meaning to tease her. She doesn’t take in account how quick Emma could be, quickly leaning forward and opening her mouth to suck her fingers into her mouth. Its hot and wet and she sucks and sucks. Her tongue sliding around them, taking them completely into her mouth. Regina’s frozen, watching, feeling her clit jump as she watches Emma suck on her fingers.

 

Their eyes meet for a moment.

 

And Regina’s sliding her fingers out quickly, bringing them down to her clit, enjoying the warmth that Emma left on them. She is quick and demanding of her movements. Her eyes staying on Emma’s. It’s too intimate, really, the way their eyes are connected and not daring to move away. Her fingers slip over her clit, she’s becoming clumsy with her movements but she’s too far off to care. They are close, Regina’s moved forward so that her chest bumps into Emma’s with ever heave of breath. Her mouth is close to Emma’s, enough to kiss, but she has enough control to not kiss her. Not cross the only line that is still there. No, she wants Emma to burn and she has to remind herself. It’s hard though, when she’s close to coming over the edge. Fingers slipping and circling and nails accidentally scraping over her clit.

 

“Come, please,” Emma begs, words jumbled, “Let me help you.”

 

Regina comes with a gasp, her face falling into Emma’s shoulder, teeth biting down on the exposed skin of the blonde. Her moans are throaty and she’s gasping for air and she’s biting down enough to draw blood, taste copper, and she’s too far off to care about how Emma’s blood is on her tongue. Their magic is embracing them and overtaking her as she comes and comes and her fingers slip ever so slightly and she’s coming again. Everything in her crashing into Emma and her magic is chaotic, the bindings slipping away from Emma’s wrist. There is a question dripping off Emma’s tongue and Regina head is nodding, teeth still digging into skin, and then Emma’s hand is sliding between them and her fingers (three, three fingers) are sliding into Regina. Stretching. And her hips are bucking.

 

She comes again in the mist of lavender and fennel smelling magic.

 

-

 

Its hours later, Emma was sure, but she still has one arm wrapped tightly around Regina and three fingers buried inside of her. They are connected on so many levels and surrounding each other and the magic slowly begins to slide back into their body. There is thunder outside the house, louder than the music, and its all overwhelming. But they are breathing into each other and Regina’s teeth aren’t biting down anymore, instead her lips are resting against Emma’s shoulder.

 

It’s intimate and possibilities has turned into a reality and Emma wonders if this is the moment where she whispers how much she loves this woman. Does she whisper the story of her epiphany and how sometimes fate is bullshit and quotes the moment that Regina said that she makes her own destiny. Maybe this was what really was meant to happen and the story that was meant to be told?

 

It would make for a good story, certainly.

 

Them together. Full circle and all that stuff.

 

Regina lifts up without words and Emma’s fingers are sliding out of her clenching heat. She’s wet again and possibly aroused, but not enough to cloud her mind. She is gaining her footing once again and distancing herself from the blonde. Her heart is still sore, stinging from the cut it received a month ago. It reminds her of her anger and of her hurt and how she wants Emma Swan to burn.

 

She is sated and angry and her head is still kind of swimming. The music has turned from pulsing to gut wrenching as a southern rasp and banjo fill the speakers. She thinks about the variety of her playlist and then her mind goes to fire and Emma Swan and she needs her to hurt just like her heart hurts.

 

It’s too easy, really, as her nightgown falls back down to cover her thighs that are sticky with her juices. She licks her lips, tasting the copper of Emma, and then she takes a deep breath before she turns.

 

“Regina,” Emma calls out, her jeans are damp from her own arousal and from how Regina dripped and dripped onto her. She smells like them, now. She’ll remember this smell.

 

“Silence, Miss Swan,” Regina hisses, hands finding their places on her hips as she presses her lips together. She feels the fire licking at her insides. She feels the emotion and, yes, she’s always felt too much. “It’s time for you to leave.”

 

Emma is up out of her chair and walking toward Regina. The former Queen raises a hand for her to stop before raising it more and pointing a finger toward the front door. She wasn’t going to repeat herself. Emma shakes her head, “No, you can’t -“

 

“Can’t what, Emma?” Regina’s voice is rising. “Tell you to leave? I think I just did.”

 

“This isn’t how this works, please,” Emma says and her voice is too gentle and too understanding and Emma’s throat is still burning but not from the whiskey anymore. “I -“

 

Regina interrupts, knowing exactly what Emma was going to say. She didn’t want to hear it. Burn, she needed her to burn. Emotion drops from her face and magic is suddenly gone out of the air. It’s colder now and the music is lower, dangerous, and the storm outside is violent. When Regina speaks again, is slick and controlled and sharp, “What did you think would happen, Emma? That I would let you fuck me and then let you confess just how much you love me?”

 

She laughs.

 

It’s empty and practiced and Emma is caught between cringing and wonder. Was this what she did when she was the queen? Emma knew what she was doing - deflecting and hiding and running and hurting because she hurts.

 

But Emma was a broken girl too, a lost girl, and it fucking hurt. She wanted her to stop, she wanted the Regina who had a son she called her prince and a woman who understood her emotions and someone who wouldn’t hurt her.

 

She didn’t want to be hurt either.

 

Regina takes a step closer but still maintaining her distance, her control over herself, as she continues with a tilt of her head and a sugar sweet smile. “Oh dear Emma, even I wouldn’t want you. You’re worthless, remember? Replaceable.”

 

And there it is, the fire and the burning. It’s satisfying, really, she couldn’t deny it. And she needed it to stay that way.

 

Regina turns her back, looking away from the damage she has caused and started to head towards the back steps that would lead up to the hallway near her bedroom. She tosses over her shoulder, “Please lock up, dear.”

 

-

 

There is a huge possibility that she was completely shitfaced. Her thoughts were slow and grazing inside her head, lingering around the edges before plunging down into her heart. They were acid to the fire residing there, burning her up from the inside out and then back again. Her heart pumped it throughout her bloodstream and it hurt, like lashes against her skin when she was eight, never ending. There was a huge possibility that at this very moment, bottle of top shelf whiskey in her hand, that she was crying.

 

The tears burnt trails along her cheeks - sliding down and down and down - dripping from her nose and hitting the side of the glass bottle. She bit her lip and noticed that her shirt was still unbuttoned down under her breasts and her black bra was showing. It didn’t matter. She was sitting against the wall of her bedroom at Granny’s. One day she’ll move into an apartment and settle her sadness there neatly - but tonight she is burning.

 

She lifts the bottle up to her lips and gulps. Burning her throat with the liquid to slide over the tracks of fire that Regina has left all throughout her body.

 

She believed.

 

Emma looks down at her fingers, Regina’s arousal dried there. She was inside her, feeling her from the inside out. She was grey and scarred and Emma still loved her. Did Regina truly realize that or was she too focused on breaking Emma? Lashing out, she lashed out. Emma knew this. She should have prepared better, been stronger, but she was weak. She was worthless.

 

It’s funny, really, all of this. The hope she had is laughable (she remembers the sound of Regina’s laughter in her ear mocking her). She could imagine wrapping herself in Regina’s arms and wrapping her arms around Regina and promising a lifetime of love and family and enough. They would have been enough for each other. And people would see and accept and they would have a family and nights curled together and days having picnics under trees with horses grazing around them.

 

Wouldn’t it make a perfect fairy tale? Wouldn’t it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
